Don't Look Back
by Stormchilde
Summary: Hondo has found a replacement for TJ and Street isn't happy with him. Rated T for adult language.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Don't Look Back  
Author: Stormchild03  
Archive: Yes, just let me know where.  
Disclaimer: I don't own S.W.A.T. or any of its characters from the movie or the television show. I don't make any money from this, though if you want to pay me, I won't protest.

Rating: T13 for adult language  
Setting/Season: After the movie  
Spoilers: SWAT – the movie  
Warnings: Adult language  
Comments/Feedback: Don't forget to feed the Cat!  
Summary: Hondo has found a replacement for TJ – Street is not happy with him.

A/N: Huge thank you to my beta Elenna of Polished Quill. Thank you for your patience in trying to instill in me the proper use of punctuation. Thanks for encouraging me to write more, this would have ended up as nothing but dialogue if you hadn't been so persistent.

If you find any errors, they are mine. Elenna worked hard on this and I may have missed making the corrections she noted.

Thanks to the Abilene, Texas Police Department - for letting me put the L.A. SWAT team through your obstacle course. The photographs and descriptions were an immense source of encouragement for the muse.

Thank you to the LJ community Ask A Cop - For answering all my silly questions about handguns.

Thank you to the yahoo!group Fans of Mark Shera - you encouraged me and gave me plenty of muse food. I haven't abandoned you, I'm just lurking.

Ozzy - this one is for you. Get well soon, the police station just isn't the same without The Boss.

And for Fwe and Crimson Black Blood – because you inspire me.

Shane West would make a perfect Luca.

* * *

Street was exhausted, and the two cups of coffee he'd already downed on the drive to work were not helping. He hadn't slept well the night before -- for some reason, Errol had been restless, whining and pacing the apartment most of the night, and he was so tired he didn't even notice there was someone else in the locker room until he dropped onto the bench. 

"Hey, kid, get outta that," Street said irritably.

The young man closed the locker with exaggerated care and looked up. "I'm not a kid. My name is Dominic Luca."

"Where's your dad? He know where you are?"

"I don't need my dad, pops."

"Who you calling pops, punk?"

"Street! Luca! My office, now!" Hondo commanded from the door.

Street watched the younger man quickly follow Hondo across the hall and took his time getting up and heading out of the locker room. Entering the EC room, he stopped just long enough to grab the cup of coffee out of Deacon's hand.

"Hey, that's mine!" The other man objected.

"Not anymore," Street muttered, sipping the hot liquid as he entered the sergeant's office.

Hondo closed the door as the other officer joined them, "This is Jim Street. Jim, I'd like you to meet Dominic Luca; he's replacing TJ."

"This Jumpstreet reject is his replacement?" Street scoffed, taking a long drink from the cup of coffee.

"Who you calling a reject?" Luca asked, crossing his arms.

"How can he be SWAT?" Street glared contemptuously at the younger officer. "He doesn't even look old enough to shave."

"Look who's talking, Mr. Stubble." Luca retorted and Street slammed the cup down on Hondo's desk.

"That's it, boy!" Street took a step toward Luca, and Hondo cut in.

"Street, back off!"

"You can't seriously think this kid can replace TJ." Street answered, turning to the sergeant.

"I know twenty-three is young, but he's been deployed on two tours in Iraq. After that, three years with Chicago SWAT with five kills."

"Five kills?" Street protested. "TJ had seventeen!"

"Any asshole with a gun can kill," Luca shot back fiercely, leaning toward Street as his voice dropped to a chilly, low tone, "It takes skill not to."

Street turned back to Luca, snapping, "Asshole? You're the asshole!"

"Break it up!" Hondo glared at both of them. "I wouldn't have taken him if he wasn't good, Street."

"Taken him, huh?" Street stared at the other man, adding, "What was it -- adopt a puppy month?"

Luca moved toward Street, raising his fists and yelling, "I'm gonna mess you up!"

"Bring it on!"

"Break it up! Sit, both of you!" Hondo ordered, stepping between them.

He'd guessed that Street would not be pleased with Luca as a replacement, but this was more than he had expected. When they had both settled into the chairs in front of his desk, Hondo settled into his own.

"Luca, your file says you're an excellent shot—98 on the range. Your captain said he hated to lose you."

"You sure you got the right guy?" Luca commented dryly, "Captain Dobbs and I didn't get along so well."

"I've got the right guy," Hondo smiled, cocking his head and winking at Street, "He just said you've got some authority problems."

"I don't have a problem;_ they_ have a problem."

"Yeah, you," Street muttered, but Luca said nothing, settling for glaring at the other officer.

"I can see you two are going to get along just beautifully." Hondo grinned, rising. "Let's introduce you to the rest of the team."

He opened the door and led them out into the EC room, where the rest of the team was finishing reports and filing paperwork.

"That's Deacon Kaye," Hondo began, nodding at the tall, muscular black man fixing a cup of coffee.

"Call me Deke," he responded, putting down the cup and extending his hand.

After Deacon nearly dislocated the newcomer's shoulder just by shaking his hand, Luca exclaimed, "What the hell do they feed you guys? Raw meat?"

Hondo smiled and Deke laughed. "Sorry—I haven't had my morning coffee yet." He picked up the mug he'd set down, adding, "and I'm less aggressive after caffeine."

"I'll try to remember that," Luca said, rubbing his shoulder, and Hondo continued with his introductions.

"The guy with the mustache is Michael Boxer."

Boxer was gentler in his greeting, but his grey eyes missed nothing, as he looked the younger man over. A quick smile and nod, and Boxer turned his attention back to the paperwork in front of him.

"And last but not least is—"

"I'm Chris Sanchez," she interrupted. "Welcome to the team."

Luca nodded and shook her hand, but he didn't miss the warning glance Street gave him when his eyes lingered on Sanchez.

"Assignments for you people; try not to get too excited," Hondo said. "Deke, you and Street get to pick up replacement packs for the gear in the truck. Get a move on -- Sam is double-parked outside. Boxer, qualification rounds on the target range this morning, and Sanchez, I want you to show Luca around, starting with the weapons locker -- which, by the way, needs to be inventoried." He grinned at the disappointed reactions. "Something fun for everyone."

* * *

"Come on," Chris said, taking Luca by the arm. "You already know where the locker room is, so this is our EC room, and back here is the weapons locker."

Luca followed her to the small room, glancing around. "Quiet and secluded," he leered.

Chris grabbed a rifle and tossed it to him; he caught it easily, and she added, frowning, "Check your equipment."

"Geez, are all California girls as cranky as you?"

"I'm a SWAT officer first."

"Sorry," Luca apologized. "I don't mean anything bad; I'm just kidding around with you." Absently, he pulled the magazine free of the weapon and thumbed the round.

"Kid around with me when we aren't on the clock." She still didn't smile, but her tone was less disapproving as she pulled a pair of clipboards off the shelf.

"Is that a date?" he asked, palming the magazine back into the rifle, and though she tried not to smile, he was too earnest.

"Maybe later." She handed him one of the clipboards.

Luca took it and leaned closer, pulling a pen from her shoulder pocket. "I'll hold you to that."

She grabbed the pen back, smiling, "You don't give up easily, do you?"

Digging a pen out of one of his own pockets, he grinned back at her. "Nope."

"I hear you and Street really hit it off—love at first sight," Chris teased.

"Yeah, it was something," Luca answered with a shake of his head. "I don't think I've ever come that close to slugging someone five minutes after setting eyes on him."

"He'll get over it."

"I won't." He frowned then, and a brief look of anger flashed over his face.

Chris laid a hand on his, "Don't take it so personally -- he's just jealous 'cause he's not the cutest guy on the team anymore".

"Cute? You're calling me cute?" Now he looked slightly annoyed.

"I'm complimenting you, stupid!" Chris protested.

"Oh, so I'm cute _and_ stupid?" He nodded.

"If the shoe fits." Grinning, she slugged him in the shoulder and ducked the punch he aimed at her.

"Ow!" Luca complained, raising his clipboard like a shield. "You're just like my sister -- always hitting me and running away."

"I think I'd like your sister," she laughed, poking him in the ribs with the end of her pen.

"Forget it; I'm not introducing you," he said blocking her pen with his clipboard, "I don't want you two getting together and ganging up on me."

"Then I'll just have to pick on you for her." Chris pushed his clipboard down, tapping her pen on the paper. "Get on it—at this rate, we'll still be here tomorrow."

Luca groaned. "I left Chicago, but there's no escape."

"Tell me more about your family," she prompted, turning to the rack of rifles and counting them silently. "You have any other sisters I should meet?"

Luca moved to stand beside her, counting the boxes of ammunition. "I'm the youngest of five --three brothers and one sister. My dad is a cop, grandfather was a cop, and my brothers and sister are cops. You have no idea what it's like to have to try to measure up to what they've all done."

"Is that why you moved to California?" she asked as she filled out the papers.

"That and --" he paused for a moment, looking her up and down, "-- for all the sexy women."

Chris smacked him on the head with the clipboard, and he yelped as she chided, "Eyes up here, pispás."

Luca covered his head with his clipboard, looking injured. "Did you just call me something dirty?"

Chris laughed. "¿Usted no habla español?"

"You should habla English."

* * *

"I don't like that new kid," Street grumbled, settling back in his seat.

"He doesn't seem so bad to me." Deke leaned forward then, grinning. "Kinda shrimpy, but from what I hear, he's got an eagle eye."

Street frowned at the driver. "I suppose you like him, too."

Sam shook his head. "I don't know him, but I know about his family -- the Luca's are a well-known Chicago family; cops going back for generations and not a bad apple in the bunch."

"Always a first time," Street mumbled, and Sam smiled but said nothing more.

"So where are we going to pick up supplies?" Deke asked.

"First stop is the armory for more ammo packs," Sam replied, "and then to the hospital to replenish the medic pack."

"Boxer is the medic -- why didn't he get that detail?" Street complained. He checked the oncoming traffic as they paused in the driveway, and nodded to the driver. "Clear right."

"Boy, you are in a mood this morning," Deke laughed. "Fighting with the new guy, stealing my coffee, and now grousing 'cause you think Boxer is slacking off. Who pissed in your Wheaties?"

"Errol," Street frowned, leaning back in his seat as the truck pulled smoothly out into traffic.

"Your dog? Literally?" Deke laughed.

"No, not literally, though the way he's been behaving lately, I wouldn't put it past him." Street closed his eyes, sighing. "Last night he just wouldn't lie down and go to sleep -- kept whining and pacing, nosing me and waking me up every couple of hours."

"Maybe he needed out."

Street shook his head. "I tried that; he wanted right back in after a couple of seconds."

"Maybe he's lonely."

"I took him out for a jog, and that didn't help."

Deke shook his head. "Lonely for a lady."

"You think I need to find a date for my dog?" Street laughed.

"Hey, don't laugh -- everybody needs somebody."

"Maybe I'll take him to the park tonight and see if he can get a little tail."

Street's reply set Deke and Sam both laughing.

"I'm being serious." Street opened his eyes, glancing at the other two.

"I know; that's what makes it so funny."

* * *

Boxer's accuracy on the target acquisition line was perfect. Unfortunately, he was also slow; he was hitting all the targets dead on but completed less than half in the time allowed.

"Dammit," Boxer said, rolling his shoulders after Hondo called time.

"Relax," Hondo advised. "You'll do better on the range." He followed Boxer to the grassy area. "Ready on the line?" he asked, watching Boxer carefully.

"Ready," he replied, and Hondo clicked the stopwatch.

"Go!"

Hondo followed carefully behind the officer as Boxer darted across the green, stopping and firing before rushing ahead. He took out the final targets, waiting on the line.

"Safety on and holster your gun," Hondo said, and the other man put his weapon away.

The range officer checked the targets, pointing out the hits. "Score – 87."

"Not my best," Boxer commented, not meeting Hondo's eyes.

"Not your worst either," Hondo pointed out, filling in the spaces on the report. "It takes time, Boxer. You took a hell of a hit, and two months isn't enough time to heal completely from an injury like that."

"I don't like taking so long to get back to where I was."

"Just give it another month -- you'll be holing a royal flush before you know it."

"You know, Hondo, you're the only man I know that plays a hand of poker with an M6 carbine," Boxer grinned.

"Makes for an interesting game, don't you think?" Hondo retorted, raising an eyebrow, and then his look turned serious. "How is your neck feeling? Do you still have pain?"

"Sometimes," Boxer admitted. "That Sig kicks like hell, and it gives me a twinge when I fire."

"It takes you a couple of seconds to bring it back on track?"

"Yeah."

"How about the Glock?"

"Not a chance, Sarge -- I'm not trying to fire that bitch if the Sig rips me up."

"And the Colt?"

"Better, but I don't like the penetration."

"Deeper is better, but if harder hurts, you're gonna have to take it easy for awhile."

Boxer smiled crookedly at the double meaning. "Got it, Sarge."

Nodding, he slapped Boxer's arm. "Let's get back and see how much trouble the kids got into while we were gone."

Boxer laughed, "Are you referring to Street and Deke or Luca and Chris?"

"They're all kids."

"It's almost time for lunch—you want to stop and pick up kid's meals for them?" Boxer joked.

"I like the way you think."

By the time Hondo and Boxer returned to the squad room, lunch was over and the others had gathered to finish the paperwork that went along with their morning assignments.

Hondo sat down on the corner of the desk at the front of the room. "As you all know, it's time for our annual fitness review." Everyone groaned, but Hondo ignored the protests and continued. "I know you're all excited, but let's try to keep it down, okay? We have obstacle course at seven in the morning and firing range and tactical situation in the afternoon, so everybody get some rest tonight. And Fuller has made some changes in the layout."

"Fuller?" Chris frowned. "When is that _vato_ gonna give up on trying to tear us down?"

"Never."

"What kind of changes?" Boxer asked, apparently resigning himself to the situation.

"He said he'd let me know when we get there."

"Somehow, that doesn't sound like a good thing."


	2. Chapter 2 Forever Blue

Don't Look Back by Stormchilde03

Chapter 2 – Forever Blue

Language warning, they have potty mouths and aren't afraid to use them.

Thanks to the Abilene Texas Police Department for the use of the obstacle course.

Thank you to Elenna of Polished Quill for the excellent beta work. If there are any errors – it's my fault for overlooking her corrections.

Thank you to evilkittin and PernDragonrider. I hope I'm keeping you entertained, thank you for your encouragement.

* * *

By six-thirty the next morning, the team was ready and assembled in the briefing room. Hondo was already there when they arrived, and he looked very unhappy.

"We'll be running the entire course this morning, straight through and no break. Firing range after." he informed them.

"The _entire_ course?" Deke was incredulous. "I'm going to strangle him with my bare hands."

"It won't do you any good," Hondo answered, glaring at Deke, "because I get to kill him first. The only bright spot in this is that the scores will be totaled, so we get an average." He looked pointedly at Chris. "The better the individual score, the better the team score.

"We're running thirty-two stations, people. This is a timed run, so be quick, but for God's sake try not to fall off anything. In case you aren't aware of the rules, anything painted yellow must be touched either with hands or with feet during the course. Anything painted red you had better not touch, or I will make sure you remember not to the next time. We get a penalty of fifteen seconds for any missed yellow and twenty-five for all reds touched. For most stations, it's easy to see the run; for the others, I'll walk you through before we take them."

The first two were easy: a timed climb up a twenty-five foot rope and a simple under-and-over of horizontal poles didn't take much time to complete.

"Now listen up," Hondo announced. "Station three. Walk up the pole, cross the platform to the cable, hang onto the top line, and walk on the bottom one to the rope. There isn't a guide on the rope, so you'll have to maintain your balance. When you get to the end, drop and crawl _under_ the crossbar. Got it?"

Nodding almost collectively, the team moved through the station; the next three were also easy and quickly completed.

"Here we have the most difficult station on the whole damn course, affectionately know as 'Wipe your Ass.' Stand on the bottom pole and jump to the second level; from there to the third, then to the ground."

"Sounds easy," Deke offered by way of consolation, but Boxer shook his head, well aware of the catch.

"It would be if the poles didn't spin. I hate this station."

"Just like the toilet paper on the roll holder, huh?"

"Wow," Chris laughed. "A guy who knows how toilet paper goes on the holder. Your wife must be very proud of you."

Deke stuck his tongue out at her, and she returned the gesture as Hondo cleared his throat.

"That's why the posts are painted white instead of yellow on this station. One at a time and try not to kill yourself --I'm not kidding. People have gotten hurt on some of the others, but this is the only station to have killed someone. Cadets aren't allowed here—not since one died two years ago from a fractured skull falling off the second pole."

"Oh, joy," Luca commented sarcastically, and his boss had to grin.

"Who wants to go first?"

Boxer stepped up. "I might as well get it over with."

"Try not to make it look too easy—you'll get the kids all fired up, and then they'll get hurt," Hondo teased.

Luca rolled his eyes. "Right."

Boxer jumped easily, only stumbling a bit on the upper roll; They had a good laugh at Street's expense when he leapt from the center roll to the top and ended up clinging upside-down to the roll for a couple of minutes before he dropped.

Deke was reluctant to go after the show Street had put on. "I'm not exactly cat agile, you know," he explained. "I'm more the strong, manly type."

"We know," Chris teased. "We've seen the manliness."

Deke made it to the top without any problems, his dismount and landing were a little abrupt and ungraceful, and he was still spitting sand when Luca landed beside him.

"Come on, big guy; Chris will land on top of us if you don't get a move on."

Indeed, she almost did, rolling as she hit the ground between them.

Hondo led them to the next station. "Relatively easy station—group effort: under the platform, up through the attic opening, across the platform, and down the wall. Come on; everybody up."

The opening in the platform was ten feet off the ground, Deacon had no trouble jumping up and pulling himself onto the high platform, and neither did Boxer.

Street bent, cupped his hands, and boosted Chris up, where Deke caught her hands and pulled her up. Then Street turned to Luca.

"Need a boost, too, short stuff?"

Luca glared but stepped into the other man's cupped hands, yelping in surprise when Street tossed him up and glaring when the other man emerged onto the platform.

"What?" he asked, feigning innocence.

With a roll of her eyes, Chris shook her head, "Boys. Don't make me tell the teacher you're fighting."

"Here is the rundown on the next stations. Pay attention, 'cause I'm only going to say this once. Station nine is called the Big Easy. Walk up the post, climb the railroad ties, and rappel down the back wall. For ten, jump for the bottom of the ladder and don't touch the red parts of the support posts. Climb to the top and crawl over the support beam, jump to the pole, and slide down. Eleven—up the ladder and down the opposite side; easy enough, but it's a forty-foot ladder, and the rungs are spaced four feet apart.

"After that is Island Hoppers. You have to jump post to post, no skipping any, and you can't touch the ground. The posts are set at different heights and spacing, and they aren't all the same width—seven are also angled. The next station is my personal favorite, the balance poles: one hundred feet of rocking, rolling wood in twenty-five foot sections at angles.

"Station Fourteen is the missile tubes. The first one is big enough to crouch and walk through, but the second one is on your belly, using knees and elbows. I want Luca and Sanchez through first, you slower guys last."

"Hey!" Deke exclaimed. "Who are you calling slow?"

"Take a look at that last tube, Luca and Sanchez are both small enough that that won't be a problem for them. You, however," Hondo informed him, clapping his hands on Deke's upper arms, "may wedge in there like a cork in a bottle, my friend. That is why you'll be last."

"You know, I would be offended," said Luca, "if that weren't true."

"That is what makes this the best SWAT team in the state. We have members for every situation," Hondo said proudly.

Sanchez and Luca set a new speed record for the station; so did Deke—theirs was for the fastest time, his the slowest. As Hondo predicted, Deacon's broad shoulders made it slow going for him in the final tube.

When they made it to station fifteen, Deke whooped like a little kid, and Hondo had to grab him to keep him from starting before the observers were ready.

"This one is called the Tarzan Swing for obvious reasons. Walk up the rope line to the platform, grab the rope, swing to the next one-- no skipping a rope --and don't drop to the ground."

"Me first," said Deke, grinning. "I love this one."

He finished quickly and wound up waiting impatiently for the others, shooting Hondo repeated glances.

"No," his boss laughed, answering his unspoken question. "You can't do it again. If you behave, maybe they will let you come back and play later.

"Station sixteen," he continued. "Ascend a fifty-foot vertical wall using a quarter-inch pipe and rappel down the back side. Seventeen: three six-foot chain link fences any way you can except going around."

Noticing Luca and Street's competition and the toll it was beginning to take on the equipment, he added, "This is a team exercise, not a two-man competition. Leave the chest pounding for your day off. Station eighteen is a ladder crossing; you have to walk on top, and the first two are easy, but the third is only anchored in the center, so balance is key on that one.

Nineteen's an easy station, over the yellow and under the red; twenty: cargo net; easy up, over, and down the other side; twenty-one: over the poles and don't touch the sides.

"You'll love this one," Hondo grinned. "Twenty-two is your basic railroad tie hurdles, but watch number thirteen: it's not the same height as the others."

When they reached the twenty-third station, Hondo had to laugh, commenting, "Boxer, as I recall, this is one of your favorites. We call this one the dog and pony show; all you have to do is jump through the 'windows,' roll across the sand, and jump over the hurdles.

"Station twenty-three is a low crawl over the railroad tie, under the draped chain link fence to the center tie, and then over it and under the second section of fence. Small hill for twenty-four: climb up and over. Twenty-five's a six-foot wall: up and over, cross the platform, and back down. Station twenty-six—free climb up the rope, cross the beams, jump down to the next level, and then jump to the ground."

"Why does this one look so easy?" Street wondered aloud.

"It_ is_ easy," Hondo answered. "This is the Irish table, and all you have to do is cross the bar without touching the supports. Station twenty-eight: more balance, just cross the cables—twenty-five foot sections rising from three feet to ten. Station twenty-nine: eight-foot vertical wall, and no touching the sides.

"And for the grand finale of this lovely morning walk, we have station thirty-two, the crocodile cross. Stand on the yellow pole, jump for the rope, and swing to the yellow pole on the other side. Don't touch the water or the side supports."

This station, too, was a fun one for Deke, and after the others had crossed and the observers had gone, he was back on it.

After ten minutes, Hondo had to drag him off. "Come on, Tarzan—the rest of us would like to get lunch sometime today."

The shooting range was the next stop. Word had gotten around, and quite a few people had gathered to witness what promised to be an interesting contest between Jim and Dominic. Both men were quick on their feet, but accuracy was the most important skill on this test, and it didn't take them long to complete the course and for the scores to be tallied. Dominic had beat Street's score by eight, five of those in long range.

"Spanked!" Deke exclaimed, earning himself a glare from Street.

After lunch, they met in the lobby of the abandoned civic center for the tactical scenario.

"You know the drill," Hondo instructed. "We have sixteen drug dealers, all armed and some with hostages. There are innocent civilians living in the building. It's a timed run, and there are penalties for shooting unarmed civilians. Go!"

Hondo followed them through the building, along with the observation team. When Deke missed a target, Hondo shook his head, and after an armed dealer popped up behind Street, he cursed softly.

Hondo met them in the lobby. "You did better than the last group to take on this scenario, but I want better from you. Deke, you're going to spend more time on the target range; Luca, I'm gonna tie a bell around your neck if you don't stop racing ahead of the group. Street, you better start paying attention, 'cause I'm gonna be popping up and nailing you with a water gun every chance I get."

"Right now, a water gun sounds like a great idea," Street groaned.

The heat was getting oppressive, and the officers started stripping off their tactical gear and dropping it in a pile on the floor.

"Let's go outside and get some fresh air," Chris suggested.

Luca took a deep breath, commenting, "The air smells weird."

"What do you know about California air, snowbird?" Street asked with a raised brow.

"Kiss my ass, beach boy."

"Bend over and mark off a spot," Street dared.

"Why don't you start here," Luca gestured.

"Break it up kids." Hondo stepped between them. "Since you two have enough energy to fight, you get to gather up the gear and pack it out."

Street and Luca both protested loudly, but the sergeant silenced them with an angry glare. "Do it. Now."

Muttering, Street shoved Luca back into the building as the others headed for the trucks.

"Cut it out," Luca complained.

"Or what?" Street shot back. "You gonna make me?"

Luca stopped in the foyer, turning to face Street. "What the fuck is your problem, man?" he asked angrily. "I just met you; what the hell did I ever do to you?"

"You're breathing my air; that's enough for now."

"Well, fuck you!"

He shoved Street backwards, knocking him to the floor. Then there was a rumbling, and the ground shook as dirt and plaster cascaded down on them, followed by chunks of concrete.


	3. Chapter 3 Haze

A/N: Thanks again to the most patient beta in the world – Elenna of Polished Quill. If ever you need an awesome beta for anything whatsoever – check out Polished Quill. (I'm not getting paid to advertise the service, she just rocks!)

Sorry about the formatting Elenna, it was fine until I posted it here.

Pern - You're the BEST! Thanks for the encouragement.

* * *

"Street! Luca! Answer me!" From the tone of his voice, Hondo had demanded a response more than once.

Fumbling for his radio, Street did as ordered. "Yeah, Sarge."

"Street?"

"Yeah," he coughed—the air was thick with dust, and it filled his nose and mouth. "I'm here."

"Are you okay?"

His mind didn't seem to want to function, and it took a moment for him to process what Hondo wanted. "I'm pinned—stuff on my legs. I can't feel anything."

"Is Luca with you?"

"I don't know. Hang on a second." He pulled the taclight off his vest and pulled himself up, groaning when he felt the bones in his leg grind, and fell back with a loud moan.

"Street?"

"I felt that," he informed his boss. He took a couple of deep, quick breaths, willing the throbbing pain to subside. "My leg is broken." Flashing his light around, he found Luca lying face down a few feet away and added, "I see the kid, Sarge." There was an unexpected hitch in his voice. "It doesn't look good."

"Is he dead?

"There is a lot of blood and—" he squinted in the poor lighting, "—and some rebar sticking out of him."

"That's not what I asked you." Hondo's voice was strangely calm as he repeated the question. "Is he dead?"

Trying not to be stung by Hondo's reply, he swallowed and reported clinically, "I can see three pieces of rebar sticking out of his back; I'm pretty sure he's dead."

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not dead," Luca groaned, trying to push himself up, but his hands slid in the dust covering the floor, and he fell back down. "Not yet, anyway. Christ, that hurts."

"Don't move," Street advised. "You could hurt yourself more."

"It's not stuck in me very far." He pushed away from the concrete, and the rebar tore across his back as Street heard the ripping of cloth and Luca's cursing. "Ow, ow, OW. That's gonna leave a mark." A painful laugh followed as he crawled toward the other man.

"Street, what's going on?" Hondo demanded.

"Sorry, Hondo—I was wrong. He's not dead."

"Hey," Luca protested. "Try not to sound so disappointed, huh?"

Street couldn't hide the smile. "I'm not disappointed, just surprised."

"What happened, was that an earthquake?" Luca's voice was shaking.

"Yeah." Street laughed softly. "What do you think of California now?"

"Give me snow, any day," Luca returned. "Lots and lots of snow."

"Can you two get out of there?" Hondo interrupted.

"I'm pinned good, Sarge; no way the squirt can get me out of here by himself."

"Luca, can you find a way out of there?"

He sneezed, and then coughed—the dust was getting to him, too. "I'll try."

"Get to it then—we'll look around up here; keep in touch."

"My radio is gone; Street will have to keep it going." Luca snapped on his flashlight.

"Here, take mine," he said, tossing the radio to the younger man.

* * *

Traffic was heavy on the radio, but after long minutes, Hondo finally got an open channel to the Emergency Services Station and explained where they were and what they had been doing before the quake. "I've got two of my men trapped in there." 

"There are a lot of people trapped, sergeant," the dispatcher explained, "and we're doing the best we can."

"I guess that means we have to do the best we can."

"I'm sorry—I just can't spare the team or the equipment right now," she apologized, "and as long as they are in stable condition and in no further danger, we have to put them on the bottom of the list. If their situation changes, give me a call back; until then, I'm afraid there isn't anything I can do. I am sorry."

"I understand," he told her, and he did, but that didn't make it any easier for him to give up on rescuing his team. He turned to the others. "We're gonna have to do it on our own."

"How? We need a front end loader or a backhoe to move all that stuff."

"We have ropes and the trucks." He looked back to where the vehicles were parked, going over a mental checklist of that they had that might be useful. "Tire tools and jacks. We'll just have to make use of what we have."

"Were do we start?"

"I'd say at the entrance. They couldn't have gotten too far in when the quake hit."

"There are three stories of concrete sitting on that entrance hall, Hondo." Boxer shook his head ruefully, adding, "and aftershocks could collapse it further."

"Then we better get started." He headed for the trucks.

* * *

Street watched as Luca crawled over the rubble, quickly lost in the darkness even with the flashlight. Every few minutes Street would yell, asking if he'd found anything yet, and each time Luca replied negatively. After nearly an hour of crawling around, Luca shut off his light and lay down, exhausted. He was covered in dirt, and sweat stung in the myriad of cuts and scratches he had accumulated on his arms and legs while trying to wriggle through the piles of rubble. 

"Luca?" Street called. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine; just getting tired." Wiping at the sweat beading his forehead, he squinted at a spot over his head—there seemed to be a light there. He kicked at some of the debris, and the patch of light grew clearer. "I think I found something."

"A way out?"

"It might be, with a little work." He kicked at the pipe again, but the rest of the rubble was too heavy to move.

"I found a pipe that's pretty clear, so maybe we can get out," Luca reported.

"Can you give us a location?" Boxer asked.

"Oh, of course I can," Luca snapped sarcastically. "I know exactly where I am in this jumble." His hands shook as he clenched the radio, and he tried to keep his voice calm as he spoke deliberately and slowly. "Look for the pipe."

"Do you have any idea how many pieces of pipe are sticking up out of this mess?" Boxer was frustrated and it showed in his tone. "Can't you send up a flare or something?"

"Hey, I'm not MacGyver; just look for the damn pipe, alright?" He continued to kick angrily at the pipe every few minutes and was startled when it vibrated from a blow to the other end.

"Good thinking, Luca—if you hadn't been knocking on it, I wouldn't have found it," he heard Boxer say.

"Can you dig us out?"

The pipe vibrated as Boxer pushed at it. "Not without some heavy equipment. There is a lot of junk up here."

"Great." He kicked at the pipe again. "So we're stuck down here."

"Hey, Luca—we're sending down some food and water," Chris interrupted.

The pipe rattled, and Luca picked up the two bottles of water that dropped out, sticking one into his pocket and opening the other, drinking it quickly. He shone the flashlight on the wrapped snack cakes that had also fallen out of the pipe, adding, "Twinkies?"

"Sorry, it's all I had in my truck," Chris apologized.

"I'm not complaining—it's just funny." He put those in his pocket, too. "Thanks, Chris."

"Luca, it's Boxer."

"What do you want?" Luca replied wearily.

"I need a status report on you and Street, okay?"

"Sure. We're hurt, and we're trapped. That's our status."

"Smartass; you know what I mean."

"Okay, Street looks all right if you can ignore the huge pile of concrete, rebar, and lumber piled on his legs. He can't feel anything unless he moves, and then he can feel broken bones in his right leg."

"How about you—are you hurt?"

"Just some scratches." Luca raked his fingers through his hair, spiking it even worse with the sweat-dampened dirt. "I'm good."

"Bullshit!" Street yelled over him, exasperated. "He's bleeding all over the place, Box. He has a bunch of deep gashes on his back and a bad cut on the side of his head. Every once in awhile he stops talking; I think he's blacking out."

"I'm not blacking out; I don't have to talk every single minute."

"Luca, truth now." Boxer's voice was serious. "How's your head?"

"It hurts," Luca grudgingly admitted.

"Are you nauseated? Any blurred vision?"

"Blurred vision? How the hell am I supposed to be able to tell if I have blurred vision when it's so damn dark down here?!"

Boxer tried to calm him down. "Take it easy, man."

"No! You take it easy!"

"Enough!" Hondo yelled, putting a hand on Boxer's shoulder. "It won't do any of any good to get worked up right now."

"When are they getting us out of here?" Luca demanded.

"Soon; just relax."

"You said that hours ago. What's going on?"

"There are a lot of buildings that have been damaged and a lot of people that are trapped."

"They're going for the more critical ones, aren't they?" Street asked.

"Yes."

"So we could be here for awhile?"

"Yeah."

"I knew I should have packed a deck of cards," Street joked, and Boxer chuckled in spite of himself.

"We'll do what we can, but without some heavy machinery, it's not going to be much."

The pipe suddenly thrummed as if something big and heavy was rattling down the length of it. The vibration stung his hand, and Luca jerked back just as the rubble shifted and buried the spot where he had been crouched.

"Luca!" Street yelled after the debris settled. "Luca? Dammit, answer me!" Then he heard the cursing, moments before could hear him crawling back. "What's the matter? Are you hurt?"

"That aftershock buried the pipe, my light, and the radio," the younger man grunted, and in the dimming beam of his taclight, Street could see that Luca held something out toward him.

"I did manage to save you some water and a couple of Twinkies."

"Thanks." Street opened the water and quickly drank almost half the bottle. "You want some?" he offered.

"No, thanks. I already drank mine; you finish that off."

"Twinkies?" Street laughed after a minute, taking a closer look.

"Yeah. That was all Chris had in her truck, and no one else brought anything."

Luca dropped to the ground with a sigh, head propped on his folded arms. In the silence, they could hear the eerie creaking and groaning of the building, and Street shuddered involuntarily—he didn't like the sound; he had to get Luca talking again.

"Hondo said you were in Iraq; what did you do over there?"

"I was… was a sniper," Luca answered wearily. "Sniper in the Marines."

"Sniper, huh? Did you like it?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew it was a stupid thing to say, but there was no taking it back.

"No. It was… killing people isn't something you should enjoy. I killed people over there—lots of people."

"It was war; you kill people in a war."

"I killed thirty-eight people in two tours—thirty-eight confirmed and another fifty probable."

"Oh." Street could tell by his tone that the subject bothered Luca, so he tried another. "Sam said you come from a long line of cops."

"Yeah. My dad, brothers, sister, grandfather."

They were quiet for a few minutes before Luca broke the silence and asked, "Why do you hate me, man? What did I do to you?"

"It's not you," Street sighed. "Well, it is, in a way. You replaced TJ, and I lost TJ because of another friend—my old partner, Brian. You're a reminder of everything that went to hell last year."

"That sucks, man."

"Yeah."

"No—I meant it sucks that you hate me because of them."

"I'm sorry." Even to him, the apology sounded like a lame excuse, but he didn't know how to explain why he felt the way he did about Luca.


	4. Chapter 4 Blue October

Many thanks to my beta Elenna of Polished Quill - she's amazing and patient.

This one is for you, PernDragonRider. Without your encouragement I'd just quit.

* * *

Deke had stripped off his shirt, sweat pouring down his muscular torso as he picked up the chunks of concrete and tossed them to the side. There was an intense look of concentration on his face, and his lips were set in a determined line.

Chris smiled, shaking her head and remembering the pictures they had seen of a young, chubby Deacon Kaye, hanging on the wall in the restaurant his father owned. She glanced behind her, where Hondo and Boxer were likewise engaged in shifting the larger debris. Hondo was handling larger pieces, and though Boxer looked like he was in pain as he lifted the concrete, he did not complain or slow down.

Chris was prying at the tightly packed mounds of debris, loosening them up with a tire iron so that the others could more easily get a hold on it and move it away from the buried door. She wished she had kept her gloves on when they had finished the simulation instead of dropping them on the floor with the rest of her tac gear, since her hands were cramped and she had a blister on her right hand—the tools were not exactly designed for comfortable use in this kind of situation.

* * *

The heat and the stillness of the air were getting to him, making him groggy, and Street rubbed at his eyes. "God, what I wouldn't do for a cold beer and a couple of aspirin right now."

Luca did not reply, and Street lifted his head to look at him. Luca was still, lying prone, his eyes closed.

"Luca? Come on, man, you have to stay awake and talk to me."

"Shut up. I'm tired, okay," he snapped. "It's been a long day, and I just wanna sleep."

"If you have a head injury, you shouldn't sleep."

"I don't have a head injury. It's just a cut, and I'm tired, so leave me alone."

"Talk to me."

"Talk to yourself, man; I hate you, you hate me, so let's let it go at that and get some sleep."

"I don't hate you," Street scoffed. "You're just highly annoying." He was silent for a moment, trying to think of something to say to start a conversation. "Why did you join SWAT?"

"What do you want to hear?" Luca replied angrily, his eyes flashing. "Guns are what I know, shooting people is my gift, and I joined SWAT because the whole point is to not kill people. I'm sick of waking up screaming in the middle of the night 'cause I can see the people I killed. Do you have any idea what it's like?"

A pause; then, "Yeah, I do."

"Right, boy scout. What did you do—accidentally run down a little old lady who was jaywalking?"

"I killed my partner Brian, and sometimes I dream that he comes back and wants to know why," Street finally said, perhaps a little more harshly than he'd intended.

"You killed your partner." Luca laughed bitterly. "I guess that means I should watch my step around you. Why did you kill him?"

"It was me or him: he'd convinced TJ to turn on us, to betray us for money while we were transporting a high-level prisoner. Brian shot Boxer, and when I caught up with him and we fought, he lost."

"Brian was your friend?"

"We met in the academy; came up together and won our spots on the team together. Five years working together and he threw that all away."

"Sounds like you blame yourself for what happened."

"I killed my friend." Street rubbed at the thin scar on the back of his right hand. "It's my fault."

"You didn't throw him into that spot—he went there all by himself."

"I should have stopped him."

"You were his friend, not his mother," Luca pointed out. "You couldn't stop him if that was what he wanted to do."

"I still feel responsible."

"You gotta let it go," Luca said softly. "If you keep hanging on to it, it'll eat you up from the inside out."

"You sound like you're speaking from experience."

"My XO in Iraq gave me the same speech after my first tour."

"He's a smart man. Is he still in the Marines?"

"The last I heard, he was a sniper with a SWAT team in Florida."

"You Jarheads are all adrenaline junkies."

With an exasperated sigh, the younger man shook his head. "Just when I think you aren't such an ass after all, you open your mouth and ruin it. So what were you? A Ranger?"

"SEAL."

"That figures."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Coast dwellers are always water babies."

"Wait till I get out of here and I'll show you who's a water baby."

The debris shifted, and Luca crouched over the other man, shielding him from the worst of the dust and dirt coming down, and Street started coughing.

"What's going on?"

"I think Hondo and the others are trying to dig us out."

"Or bury us more."

"You're such a pessimist."

"And you're a ray of sunshine?"

Street quirked an eyebrow in disbelief, and the younger man just rolled his eyes.

"They better hurry up and get us out of here, or I'm going to kill you just so I can have some peace and quiet."

A slab of concrete the size of a compact car began to teeter, and if it fell, it would clearly crush Street, so Luca put his back to it and pressed backward with all his strength, despite Street's protests.

"You can't hold that up!"

"You're not my father," Luca grunted, "so don't tell me what I can't do!"

Street covered his face with his arms as more debris fell on him.

"Fancy meeting you here," Chris remarked then, crouching beside him.

"It's about time!"

Deke ignored the complaint and moved to stand beside Luca, his back to the slab. "I'll hold it up."

"No! I have it—just get Street out of here. You and Hondo can lift the piece of wall; Chris and Boxer can pull him out."

Deke went back with Hondo, and together they managed to lift the slab high enough for Chris and Boxer to drag Street out from under it.

"Deke," Hondo ordered as they carried Street out, "grab the kid."

"I'm not a kid!" Luca protested.

"Right."

Deke wrapped his arms around Luca's waist and yanked the smaller man back. They tumbled to the ground outside, and the opening collapsed mere inches from their feet.

"You can let go of me now," Luca grumbled.

"Sure, sure," Deke answered, but he did release the other man. "You are a mess, man," he added, noticing the shredded shirt.

"You know, Hondo, I don't think I want to have this kind of team building exercise every time we're up for the fitness review. My wardrobe can't afford it," Luca quipped, examining the holes in the front of his shirt.

"I don't think the city can afford this as a test every year, but it certainly was interesting," Hondo replied just as dryly.

"Come on—let's get you guys in the truck and to the hospital."

"I don't need to go to the hospital," Luca objected, glaring at Boxer. "I'm just scratched up."

"If this is what you call a scratch," retorted Boxer, pressing a bandage to the side of Luca's head, "I'd hate to see what you consider a cut."

"Come on, macho man--someone has to keep Street company," Chris teased. "And besides, you wouldn't want to miss out on meeting all those beautiful California girls that work at the hospital, would you?"


	5. Chapter 5

Elenna of Polished Quill – the best beta service ever!

PernDragonRider – the best, most encouraging reader ever!

Nikki2513 – Thanks for your encouragement, I hope the story measured up to your expectations. Chris is an amazing character and she really belongs with Street. Maybe the muse can be encouraged to write a C/J fic …

A/N: I read somewhere someone had said that the truck in the original series looked like a bread truck with lights. The new one certainly can't be described that way.

* * *

Chapter 5 – All the answers

The hospitals were filled with people, dirty, scared, and injured during the earthquake and its aftershock. Traffic had been a nightmare, trying to get over building materials in the streets, around stalled cars and snarled traffic. There wasn't a place to park, so Boxer pulled the truck up to the ambulance entrance, which of course sent the security guards into a frenzy.

"You can't park here!" one of them growled, laying his hand on his pistol. "Move it out; this is for emergency vehicles only!"

"What does he think this is, a converted bread truck?" Boxer grumbled.

Hondo and Deke got out, lifting Street out and carrying him inside. Chris pulled Luca out; he protested weakly as she wrapped an arm around his waist and led him inside. When they were clear of the truck, Boxer flipped on the lights and siren, peeled out, grinning and flipping the bird to the irritable guards.

The two waited with other injured people in a crowded room for several hours, checked periodically by the triage staff before they were treated. Hondo and the others refused to leave until they got a report on Street and Luca.

The trauma doctor looked and sounded exhausted when he came to tell them that the injured officers had been treated. "Officer Street has a fracture of the right tibia and fibula— no complications; it was a clean break. We set it, and he'll be back to full duty in about six weeks if he follows the doctor's orders."

"And what are the chances of that happening?" Deke asked.

"What about Luca?"

"No fractures or concussion, he does have a minor case of dehydration. He has some bruised ribs that will be painful for a while, and the final count on stitches is one hundred sixteen. If he follows orders, he'll be back in two weeks."

"Yeah, I bet that'll happen."

"They both inhaled a lot of dust and debris, so we're keeping them overnight for observation."

"Not in the same room, I hope," Hondo grinned, "There could be bloodshed."

"Sorry—we're at capacity. They'll just have to behave themselves."

"I'll be sure to tell them that," said Hondo. "Can we see them now?"

"They're upstairs in room 602." The doctor yawned and rubbed his eyes. "You can all go up but don't stay for more than ten or fifteen minutes."

"Sure thing, Doc. Thanks."

* * *

Street was not feeling any pain; the nurse had given him a shot of morphine after they had been placed in the room. Feeling bold, he asked a groggy Luca, "So you don't get along with your dad?

"Who told you that?" he asked suspiciously.

"You did," Street laughed.

"When?"

" 'You're not my father; don't tell me what I can't do.' What was that all about?"

Luca was silent for several minutes then he turned to Jim, eyes glassy. "You know how tall I am? I'm five ten. My dad and my brothers are all over six feet; even my mom and my sister are taller than I am. For three years on the force in Chicago, all I ever got was being compared to my family: 'your dad wouldn't have done it that way; that's not how your brother would handle it.' My dad hated me being a cop. He's ashamed of me—nothing I have done has ever been good enough for him."

"That can't be true; Hondo said you were tops on your team."

"When I came back from Iraq, people spit on me, called me a murderer. I tried to never kill anyone again while I was on SWAT; my dad never said anything about it, ever. If he were proud of me, he would have said something, right?"

Street frowned—that was more information than he'd thought he'd be able to pry out of the recalcitrant officer. Obviously, this was a sore topic that needed to be addressed if he ever hoped to see eye-to-eye with Luca, but he hoped he wouldn't say anything stupid, since his mouth seemed to be moving without the benefit of him thinking through what he wanted to say first.

"Some people can't talk about how they feel; maybe your dad is like that. Be your own person; don't try to outshine everyone else. If you want people to appreciate who you are, you have to be yourself."

"I have to prove myself to everyone. No one takes me seriously."

"Give it time; people will see who you are. Stop pushing it—you're so pushy that it turns people off, so stop being so aggressive. You're only twenty-three; you have plenty of time to claw your way to the top." It felt odd to be saying that to Luca, since he was vaguely aware that someone had said something similar to him some time ago.

"It's just ... they are all top officers, and everyone wants me to be just like them. That's why I moved out here, to get away from being compared to them and everyone finding me not as good."

"You are as good as they are—heck, maybe even better than they are. Be yourself; stop trying to measure up to them. You can follow in their footsteps, but you don't have to try to fill their shoes."

In the doorway, Hondo smiled, murmuring quietly, "Damn. I'm didn't think he remembered me telling him that." Stepping in, he spoke up, teasing, "I hope you two have learned a lesson from all this."

"There are easier ways to meet women," Luca quipped.

"Snowbirds aren't so bad once you get them really into California," Street laughed.

"Somebody sounds like they aren't feeling any pain," said Chris, smiling down at Street.

"No pain, no gain." he smiled back at her.

"Oh yeah, he's making all kinds of sense." Deke laughed. "How about you, Luca? You in a happy place now?"

"Happier place." He blinked slowly, obviously fighting sleep.

"Do you still want to go back to Chicago?" asked Boxer.

"Nah, 'smore 'citing 'er." Luca slurred.

"I don't think either one of them are going to remember any of this conversation in the morning," Hondo chuckled.

"I think you're right."

"I guess that means you'll have to postpone the lecture you were going to give them?"

"It'll wait," Hondo agreed.


End file.
